J^^r U ^ 



SY O (^ 



PS 1534 

.D54 06 ^^ 

Copy 1 — — 



AK mX DAUGHTER. 



a ©rama in STJjree ^ctjS, 



BY T. S. DEM SON. 



FJRIOE 15 OE2STTS. 



CHIC A60 : 

T. S. DEN I SON. 



NO PLAYS EXCHANGED 



FOR SCHOOLS AND AMATEURS. 




1 oeo, 



Price, 15 Cents Each, Postage Paid. 



These plays have been prepared expressly to meet the wants of teachers 
and amateur clubs by teachers of extended experience in the school room 
and in the presentation of amateur plays. They are simple in construction, 
and require no scenery, or only such as is usually at hand. They aflord ample 
opportunity for '■^acting.'' They are 2^ure in tone and language. 

The " School and Social Drama' series are no longer on trial. Their 
success is assured. The testimonials given with each play express the 
opinions of those who have used the play and know whereof they speak. 

"If the succeeding numbers are as good as the first, we predict for them 
a large demand."— iVaYiOMo/ Teachers'' Monthly, N. Y. and Chicago. 

'*The farces are full of inn.''''— Daily Inter-Ocean, Chicago. 

"These plays are supplying the dearth of good literature in this depart- 
ment.''— JV. Y. School Bulletin. 

" We do not know of twelve dramas in the language (twelve sent for re- 
view) better adapted to teach good lessons and at the same time furnish 
amusement to the young."— ^V<:'«' England Jour. Education. 
ODDS WITH THE ENEMY. 

A drama in five acts ; 7 male and 4 female characters. Time, 1 hour, 
45 m. Contains a good humorous negro character. 

" It took splendidly. 'Tabbs' made it spicy."— (7. E. Rogers, Dunkirk, 
Ind. 

SETH GREENBACK. 

A drama in four acts : 7 male and 3 female. Time, 1 hour 15 m. Contains 
a good comic Irish character. 

" Seth Greenback was a perfect success. It can't. be beat as an amateur 
drama."— TTl// /T. Talbott, Coatsville, Ind., Dramatic Ciub. 
WANTED, A CORRESPONDENT. 

A farce in two acts, 4 male and 4 female. Time, 45 m. Very interesting 
and amusing. 

INITIATING A GRANGER. 

A ludicrous farce; 8 male. Time, 25 m. 

" We used Initiating a Granger. It was laughable beyond description."— 
J. W. Simmons, Lawrence, Mich. 

THE SPARKLING CUP. 

A temperance drama in five acts; 12 male and 4 female. Time, 1 hour, 45 
m. A thrilling play, worthy the best eftorts of amateurs. Pathetic song and 
death scene. 

"The Sparkling Cup met with great success. It is the great rival of Ten 
Nights in aBar Room.'^— T^. F. Kuhn, De Graff, O. 
A FAMILY STRIKE. 

A spicy farce, illustrating "strikes,' 3 male and 3 female. Time 20 m. 
TWO GHOSTS IN WHITE. 

A humorous farce based on boarding-school life; 7 female characters. 
Time, 25m. Very funny throughout, and contains some excellent hits. 



AI mix DAUGHTER. 



^ id':Rj^i^j^, 



IN THREE ACTS. 



T. S. DENISON. 



AUTOOK OF 



Odds Tvith thg En^my,'^ '^Iniiiadn^ a Grander," "Wanted^ a Correspondent^ 

'* A Family Strike,''* " Setk G^'eenback," *'• Hans Von Smash^* *^ Borrow- 

ing Trouble;* "■Two Ghosts in White," *' The Pull-Back," "Coim- 

try Justice;^ " The Assessor;* " The Sparkling Ctt^^ 

**Loux'a thePaiiper," "Our Country" '''The School- 

Ma^am;'' "■The Kansas Immigrants^* *^T/te 

Irish Linen Peddler,'"' "Is thf 

Editor Inr^ Etc, 



CHICAGO. 

T. S. DENISON. 

Copyright, 1879, by T. S. Deniaon. 



PS l?3+ 



CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Hahvey. 

Edith Harvey, his daughter. 

James Tuttle. 

Charles Forest, alias Wilson. 

IZ^ZSo... !-ServaatsofHarvey. 
Bryer, a grasping landlord. 
Little Etta .Forest. 



Time of representation, 1 hour 15 minutes. 



COSTUMES. 

Modern, and to suit the character. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
S means right, as the actor faces the audience. L left ; G center. 



SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Edith's spoiled disposition shown, Tuttle vs. Forest. 
Tuttle has the father's preference, but Forest wins. Nick 
Boone's views of modern matrimony. Forest reveals himself. 
Edith driven from home by her father. 

Act II. — Poverty and suffering. Forest a drunkard. At- 
tempted reconciliation by Harvey. He is driven from the house 
by Forest. Nick, Tuttle and Forest. The deadly assault. 
Plight of the Forests. 

Act III. — The hard landlord. Wretchedness and suffering of 
Mrs. Forest and Sallie. Timely interference of Nick. Return 
of the absent one and reconciliation. 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER, 



ACT i. 



Scene. — Ilarcey''^ parlor, elegantly furnished, easy chairs^ 
tenter table, sofa, pictures, etc. Bailie discovered arranging furni- 
ture. 

Edith. {Entering L.) Sallie, did you sec the dressmaker? 

Sallie. 'No, Miss Edith; she was not in. 

Edith. Why did you not wait ? 

Sallie. I didn't think you were so particular about your new 
dress as that. 

Edith. What right have servants to think for their mistresses T 
I told you to wait and tell Mrs. James that I must have that 
dress to-morrow. 

Sallie. I beg pardon, Miss Edith, Mr. Harvey told me to 
hurry home. 

Edith. {Impatiently.) Pshaw! I do wish pa would quit giv- 
ing orders about things he can't understand. Sallie, you have 
not put the vase of flowers on the table yet; you know I always 
want fresh flowers. 

Sallie. Miss Edith, I forgot them, I have been so busy alt 
day; I will get them at once. 

Edith. Forgot them ! How stupid you are. It is too late now 
to get them to-day. The gardener has gone home. {Exit R.) 

Sallie. Miss Edith gets peevish beyond endurance. She has- 
her own way until she's clear spoilt. {Enter Nick, L.) It make& 
me feel contrary too. {Dusts furniture snappishly.) 

Nick. That's just what / have always told you, Sallie. 

Sallie. It don't matter to you if it is so. 

Nick. Haven't 1 always told you that you are a little bit stub- 
born, and haven't you just now owned up, eh? 

Sallie. Nick Boone, do stop your teasing. This house would 
try the patience of a saint. 

Nick. Walls damp, eh ? or are the chimneys smoking again ? 

Sallie. Oh, it isn't the walls nor the chimneys. It is the jJeo- 
ple, yourself among them. I'm made a martyr of by everybody. 

Nick. Indeed! What is a martyr. Miss Simmons? Oli, yes! 
I know! If a fellow gets an idea into his head and you can't 
reason him out of it he's stubborn, but if you try to singe it out 
of him with a hot poker, then he's a martyr. 



4 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Sallie. (With contempt.) Humph! No danger then, of y(7Tir 
being a martyr. 

Nick. I'm approaching one, Sallie. {Puts his arm around her 
waiat.) 

Sullie. {Quickly eluding him.) Ha! ha! you're not quite fit 
>> join the ranks of the martyrs just yet. 

Nick. An unworthy candidate! (Aside.) All a martyr needa 
is perseverance. A little soft soap will help matters. (Aloud.) 
Sallie, it is a shame that Miss Edith is so alldred hard to please. 

Sallie. You don't have to please her very often. 

Nick. No, not often I It is not pleasant to have to please an^ 
woman often. 

Sallie. You mean tiling! 

Nick. Sallie, you w^ere just complaining of her. 

Sallie. Can't I complain when 1 please? 

Nick. You're just right! I don't blame a good-looking girl 
for complaining a little. (Aside.) She's mad, but soft soap will 
fetch her round. 

Sallie. (Coyly approaching Nick.) Nick, it is provoking the 
way Miss Edith acts. Mr. Harvey spoils her in everything. 

Nick. Of course he does. He ought to know better. Sallie, 
if you weren't such a good-tempered, nice girl, you couldn't get 
along with her at all. 

Sallie. (Approaches Nick. He puts his arm round her waist.) 
Well, I think it is not everyone that could get along with her. 
I like her though, don't you? 

Nick. I'd give all I have in this world to keep her from sor- 
raw, but I pity the man who marries her. 

SaWe. Why ? 

Nick. He'll have a tough time of it. 

Sallie. She will have lots of money. 

Nick. And knows how to make it fly, Sallie. She will spend 
the money and the burden will be on him. He'll have to drudge 
to keep up his income. He'll have to get new servants every 
week, for the old ones won't stay. The furnaces will always be 
too hot or too cold. He'll never get to dinner at tlie right time. 
He'll talk too much or too little, or not at all. He'll soon wish 
he was in — 

Sallie. Nick ! ! 

Nick. In a state of bachelorhood ! Just as most fellows do 
who try matrimony on the modern plan. 

Sallie. On the modern plan ! What is that? 

Nick. Well, it would take some time to explain that plan, so 
I'll just give you a sort of bill of particulars, as it were. You 
see in the first place the man must have stamps. 

Sallie. Postage stamps? 

Nick. (With a drawl of feigned contempt.) No, stamps! 
same thing as tin, you know. 

Sallie. (With prudish air.) Oh, Nick; I do wish you wouldn't 
talk slang. You know I don't understand it. 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER 5 

Nick. Oh, you don't! Well, you ought to get acquainted 
with it. It is the rising generation of the English language. 
Lilte most boys, it's a little olF in its young days. Well, as I 
said, the man must have stamps. No ditference what he hasri't 
got if he has stamps. Then he must have a span of fine horses 
and a footman and a headman, and all the rest of them fellows, 
male and female. Then he must rent a front pew in the biggest 
church in town, and a box in the Opera House. Them's luxuries. 
Then he must have a few necessaries of life, so he subscribes to 
the Driving Park. 

SalUe. Nick, when are going to stop, anyway ? 

Nick. Oh, I'll wind up on the domestic duties. Home, sweet 
home! There's no place like home. The man has to ix)und 
carpets till he can't lift a broom-handle any longer, and break his 
back lifting stoves and setting them in a new place and risk his 
neck on a step-ladder hanging chromos that cost ten cents a 
dozen, and so forth. Well, when company comes he has to trot 
down town after a fresh beef steak. When he gets that he has to 
trot back after coflee, and next time he trots after a general as- 
sortment. 

Bailie. Why, his duties must be chiefly trotting., Nick. 

Nick. You're just right! He keeps trotting lively if you 
count trotting the baby. It's risky; that's why I don't intend to 
marry. 

Sallie. (Quickly withdrawing from Nick.) Oh, you don't 
intend to marry ? 

Nick. (Aside.) Hang it, I said too much. (Aloud.) I meant 
not right away. (Aside.) I'll try a little more soft soap. (Aloud.) 
Now, with such a girl as yourself, Sallie, marriage would be a 
very different thing. 

Sallie. {Goquettishly.) Would it? 

Nick. Yes; you are a jewel, you are a moss-agate, a diamond, 
an angel, a — 

Sallie. Humph! a regular prize package, eh ? 

Nick. Yes, a prize package. I couldn't think of the word, I — 

Sallie. Nick Boone. (Nick stops suddenly.) 

Nick. What? 

Sallie. Taffy won't go down ! 

Nick. (Feigning surprise.) Taffy! Sallie! that overcomes 
me! I feel short of breath. 1 thought you didn't understand 
slang. 

Sallie. I was just quoting you. I suppose it is the same as 
soft soap, which you use pretty often. 

Nick. No; I always use Jiard soap. Soft soap is entirely out 
of date. It isn't genteel. 

Sallie. You seem to study the slang dictionary. 

Nick. Yes. I'm fitting myself for a iiome missionary. (Sallie 
slaps Nick.) I'll present the other cheek. (Tarns his head.) 

Sallie. Well you may. You've plenty of it. 



(J AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Nick. Lot's go on with our »jynmastics. You see when soft 
soap won't stick you must try tatly, that sticks a little better. 

Sallie. You needn't try it any more, Nick. It won't stick. 
Help me fold this shawl, ("f hey take opposite ends of a large 
hJuiwI. Nick twists the shawl as often as tiallie tries to straighteii 
it.) 

Sallie. What are you doing? 

Niek. Trying to find the right side. Now I have it. Here, 
Sallie, take hold of these corners and you ha\"e it. (Sallie takes 
the shaiDl and Nick steals a kiss. Enter Edith, B. Sallie screams. 
Edith stands in silence, looking at them.) 

Edith. Nick, the temperature of this room is entirely too 
high. Attend to the furnaces. 

Nick. It is a little warm here. Sallie, don't you feel uncom- 
fortable ? 

Sallie. {Snappishly.) You're a dunce. (Exit Sallie, B., 
Nick, L.) 

Edith. (Seating herself listlessly.) Oh, dear! how tired I get 
of receiving company, it is a constant round of stale compli- 
ments, and vapid commonplaces. It is such a bore. If one 
could only go to balls and parties ail the time ! (Enter Har- 
vey, L.) 

Harvey. Ah, daughter, alone, I see. 

Edith. Yes, father. It's a relief to be alone occasionally. I 
hate to wear a society mask all the time. 

Harvey. (Lausrhs.) Edith, don't wear a mask at all. Be the 
same at home and abroad. 

Edith. Oh, pa, it does well enough to talk so, but you know 
most people are different at home from what they are in society. 

Harvey. Yes ; they are models of propriety in company, and 
unbearable shrews in their families. 

Edith. Pa, you are not scolding, are you? 

Harvey. No, darling. I didn't think of scolding my pet. 

Edith. You are too kind for that, good, dear papa. (Places 
her arm round his neck.) You wouldn't scold your pet, would 
you? 

Harvey. No. I'll never scold you, Edith. Haven't I always 
granted j^our slightest wishes ? 

Edith. Oh, you are so good, it is a pleasure to you to grant 
favors. 

Harvey. Edith, you claim a double portion, yea the whole of 
my existence. You are all that is most precious to me. There 
was one who I hoped would be a son to me and a brother to you. 

Edith. (Laughs.) Pa, if I fill two places, I should have the 
privileges of two. 

Harvey. Edith, you are at times a trifle too exacting. Take 
heed in time. 

Edith. Why, what do you mean, father? 

Harvey. I have never refused you a request, and never de- 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER T 

manded the slightest sacrifice. You are old enough to guess for 
yourself, 

Edith. I suppose so! Oh, pa, that ball of Mrs. Garvin's will 
be splendid. My new ball dress will surprise some of the bon 
ton. 

Hai^ey. Pshaw ! So that is your highest aim — to surprise the 
bon Ion with a new dress ! {F/ices the floor. A pause.) I saw 
Mr. Tuttle to-day. 

Edith. Indeed ! 

Harxey. He will call here this evening. 

Edith. {Slightly impatient.) That is not very gurprisiog 
news. 

Harvey. He is an excellent young man. I esteem him as a 
true gentleman. 

Edith. Certainly ! He is a gentleman. 

Harvey. I am much interested in his success in life. {Exit R.) 

Edith. {Musing.) Father's w^ords admit but one meaning. I 
suppose I must be married sometime. That seems, after all, to be 
woman's sphere that we hear so much about. I am rich, and a 
prominent member of society, so there is nothing else for me to 
do. Work, however respectable, would disgrace me with my set, 
and really I suppose work is not easy. Everybody thinks so. 
Tuttle is cluU, and always talking business. Mr. Forest is so nice, 
and he waltzes exquisitely. Well, I will choose for myself. {Door 
hell rings. That is Mr. Tuttle. I must dispose of him, for Mr. 
Forest intends to call. {Nick shows Tuttle in L.) 

Edith. Good evening, Mr. Tuttle. Take a seat. 

Tuttle. Good evening. Miss Harvey. {Seating hiTUself.) I 
took the liberty of dropping in this evening. I hope I do not in- 
terfere with any engagement. 

Edith. I'm very sorry, Mr. Tuttle ! I have an engagement. 
Will you step into the library and visit with father? 

Tuttle. I had hoped to have a few minutes' chat with you. 

Edith. Oh, I am at liberty for a short time. 

Tuttle. A few w^ords will tell my story. Miss Harvey, we have 
been acquainted for years. You know that I have not been in- 
different to the charms of your society. Will you be my wufe? 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle, this is very sudden ! 

Tuttle. 1 could not longer endure this suspense. 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle, you^are a grave man of business, and I am 
a gay butterfly of society. 

Tuttle. I have considered it all. I have the means to main- 
tain your position in society. Beneath the gay exterior of the 
ijutterfly I see the sterling qualities of a true woman. 

Edith. Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Tuttle, but I fear 
we should be an ill-assorted pair. 

Tuttle. Miss Harvey, I know you are fond of society, and thai 
I am not, but time would probably bring us nearer together. 



8 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Edith, Let us not repeat the mistakes of others. It is im- 
possible. 

Tuitle. Don't say impossible. I hate that word. Think over 
this. I will wait lor a final answer. 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle— {Enter Havcey suddenly E.) 

Harvey. Good evening, Mr. Tuttle, I'm very glad to see you. 
{They are seated.) 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle, and papa please excuse me. {Exits^ R.) 

Harvey. How are the markets, Tuttle. 

l^uttle. About the same as yesterday. 

Harvey. Mr. Tuttle, I am glad you have called this evening. 
An impression I received on entering the room just now leads 
me to speak with you on a matter about which I think we have 
an understanding. With my consent you have long wooed my 
daughter, but I have not used my influence with either you or 
her to bring about a marriage. Edith is a girl of strong impulses . 
You are a tardy suitor. Speak out plainly, and at once, or your 
cause is in danger. 

Tuttle. I realize, Mr. Harvey, that it is in danger. Impor- 
tunity will not strengthen it. 

Harvey. Urge the case. Hearts, like forts, may be taken by 
Btorm. 

Tuttle. Ah, Mr. Harvey, you little know your daughter if you 
think she can be won by such means. 

Harvey. Hang it, my boy, she must marry you. I hold the 
balance of power. She dare not refuse to do my bidding. 

Tuttle. Mr. Harvey, I will never be a party to coercive meas- 
ures. A forced marriage is an abomination and a desecration of the 
most sacred of human ties. No honorable man would enter into 
Buch a union. 

Harvey. With the home you can furnish, she would soon be- 
come a happy wife. She is fond of style. 

Tuttle. Money can do many things, but it cannot purchase 
domestic happiness. It can adorn the haughty bosom with 
sparkling diamonds, but it can not light the eyes of beauty with 
the glance of affection or wreathe the smile of love on rosy lips. 
No: the price of these is love, — the love of a pure woman tor the 
man of her choice. Money can lay your floors with velvety piles 
of rarest texture, and adorn your walls with beautiful works of 
art, but it cannot place love's sweet welcome at the threshold. 
All the mines of the great West can not bring peace to aching 
hearts mismated, who strive to conceal from a cold world the 
ugly skeleton of discord by veiling it in the poor drapery of 
outward affection. Such risks are too great to be assumed 
lightly. 

Harvey. Urge your suit! She'll love you by and by. The 
visits of that Forest are becoming frequent of late. I don't like 
him. There is a mystery about his antecedents. Nobody knows 
who he is. I have heard some rumors that he is a gambler and 
addicted to drink. I believe you know him, Tuttle? 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER ^ 

Tutile. Yes ! but silence becomes me best. 

Hai'vey. I appreciate your delicacy. I shall find it out else- 
where. Edith shall never marry that man and call herself my 
child. {Bell rings.) Tiiere is a caller! Come into the library 
where we shall not be disturbed. (Exeunt R, as Nick enters. Nick 
goes to doar i/, and vshers in Forest.) 

Forest. Is Miss Harvey at home? 

Nick. She is; I will call her. 

Forest. Hold a minute, Nick. I would like to ask you a few 
questions. 

Nick. Would you like to have them answered ? 

Forest. Do you think I would ask them if I didn't? 

Nick. I only thought you might be more careful what you 

Forest. {With a sneer.) Humph ! Y^ou mean to answer if you 
please. 

Nick. That's about my position on the subject. 

Forest. {Getting angry.) Fellow, I see you know about what 
I want to ask. Somebody has been circulating evil reports about 
my character, 

Nick. {Taunting.) Well that's naughty. They oughtn't to 
do it. I feel for you. ^ ^ , , ^ 

Forest. {Angrily.) Nick Boone, you try to play the fool, but 
you can't hide the knave. 

Nick. I don't think you're worth hiding. 

Forest. Villain I I'd break every bone in your body if it was 
worth while. , ^ , . n. 

Nick. It isn't worth while. Just give me plenty of the stutt 
you had when I saw you at the races, and I'll be as limp as if I 
hadn't a bone in my body. {Staggers round and imitates a 
drunken man. Forest strikes at Nicky who dodges.) 

Forest. Oh ! I forgot where I was. 

Nick. {Coolly.) Well, that is hardly a sufficient apology. 
But I'll accept it. {Waves hand deprecatingly.) You were hasty. 
I'm of a very equable temper. I rise superior to circumstances. 
I say. Forest, did you ever see anybody rise superior to circum- 
Btances ? 

Forest. Heavens! I'll— 

Nick. There now, don't ! Keep cool. Let's take an example of 
what I mean. Suppose the pet monkey gets your best cravat on 
just as you want it, when you're already too late for the party. 
You chase him round the house with the boot-jack; that's the cir- 
cumstances. Well, when the monkey runs up the lightning-rod 
with the cravat to the top of the chimney, and makes faces at you, 
he rises superior to circumstances. 
Forest. Scoundrel ! I will hit you ! 

Nick. {Suddenly dropping his humorous tone and assuming 
an air of dignity.) Mr. Forest, no man can call me a scoundrel. 
You call yourself a gentleman I am a gentleman too, if I am & 
eervant 



10 AN ONLY DAUGHTEIi 

Forest. Then why did you circulate stories about me? 

Nick. When a man asks me civilly I'll tell him civilly. Sup- 
pose I had told Mr. Harvey that I sav/ you drunk, and that you 
gamble. If you had a clnld and such a man wanted to marry 
her, wouldn't you thank anybody for telling the whole truth? 

Forest. Nick, I am trying to reform. 

Nick. I'll be the last man to hinder you. 

Forest. 1 wish to see Tuttle. (Nick goes to door E to call T.) 
I must strike now, or the prize is lost. {Enter Tuttle, M.) 

Tuttle. Good evening. Forest. We seldom meet lately. 

Forest. Some of my former friends choose to avoid me. 

Tuttle. Forest, sit down and let us talk this matter over. I 
have never avoided you; I have avoided the company you kee\*^.. 

Foreat. Every man has the right to choose his associates. . ' 
don't blame you. I did hope that my old comrades would not sa} 
any more than was necessary about the little freaks I, for a time, 
indulged in. Reporting what a man once did after he is trying 
to do better, looks like striking a man when he is down. 

Tuttle. Forest, you are mistaken ; I have never said a word to 
any one on that subject. 

Forest. Some one has. Mr. Harvey's family seem to know a 
great deal about my affairs. 

Tuttle. Forest, you are wrong in your suspicion. There is no 
use mincing words. We are rivals. I never would injure a 
former friend, much less advance my own interests by blackening 
the name of a rival. You confided to me your love for Edith 
Harvey, when you must have known that I loved her. You knew 
your revelation would seal my lips. Whether it was fair or not, 
I leave you to judge. I have never stooped to peddle secrets. 
{Rises to leave.) 

Forest. Mr. Tuttle, you think me suspicious and unjust I 
have had bitter wrongs' of which you know nothing. I was forced 
by circumstances to be your rival. You can not understand it 
now. You will sometime. I have signed the pledge, and am 
trying to do right. 

Tuttle. May God help you to stand firm. 

Forest. My wrongs have made me suspicious. Will you think 
of me as one trying to do right ? 

Tuttle. I will. {They shake hands. Exit Tuttle, L.) 

Forest. It is hard to be forced into such a position, but I am 
-playing for high stakes and must win. {Enter Nick, R.) 

Nick. Mr. Forest, shall I announce to Miss Edith that you 
have called ? 

Forest. If you please! {Nick hows and exits R.) It is a des- 
perate move, but time admits of no delay. The girl io already 
won. I will appeal to IVlr. Harvey, and disclose all. He cJieated 
me out of my mother's inheritance. I'll win his daughter before 
they know who I am, and then I'll get the money stiU, for he 
-can't refuse her. With Edith for my wife, I shall feel a ten-fold 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. H 

power to resist temptation. She will be true as steel. {Enter 
Edith, L.) , ^ M • 1 

Edith. Ah! Mr. Forest. Aren't you ashamed to fail in keep, 
inff your appointments punctually ? 

^Foreat. 1 was detained on a matter of business with a gen- 
tleman. „ -, * »u * 
Edith. Aha! so you prefer the society of a gentleman to that 
of a lady. 
Forest. I said I was talking business. , . 
Edith. Now, Mr. Forest, don't get to talking business, it is 
so stupid. {They take seats.) 
Forest. Especially on a moonlight evening. 
Edith. I do hope this delightful weather will not change 
until after Mrs. Garvin's ball. That will be a splendid affair. 1 
shall enjoy it, I know. Won't you ? 

Forest. I don't know. That depends on you. 
EditJi. On me? Why? 

Forest. Because mv happiness is in your hands. 
Edith. I'm afraid it's in poor hands. {Laughs.) 
Forest. Seriously, Edith, will you make me happy for lite? 
Edith. Charles, you are jesting. 

Forest. No, Edith. A plain question need not be masked by 

idle approaches. . u w^ 

Edith. Charles, I must ask you a question. I have heard 

that you are addicted to strong drink. I hope this is not true. 

I never would marry a drankard. 

Forest. Dear Edith, with shame I confess that I have at times 
taken more wine than was good for me. But I never reeled in 
the street, or was picked out of the gutter, and carried home, as 
my enemies reported. I never got so low as that. 

Edith. I'm so glad you didn't. That would be so ungenteel. 
I never believed that, though a former friend of yours told me. 

Forest. {Quickly.) Has Tuttle done that? He has turned 

traitor to a friend. ., t- • a ^\.^ 

Edith, Charles, don't be hasty. It was another friend who 

told me. Mr. Tuttle is too much of a gentleman to say a worn 

^^F^rest.^\^\ih, I have suffered bitter wrongs. Men have tried 
to ruin me. 1 have pledged myself never to taste another drop 
of intoxicating liquor. In your presence I renew that solemn 
promise. With your aid I should be strong to resist all tempta- 
tion. I await an answer. 

Edith I believe you, Charles. ^ r, a \ n^a. 

Forest. Mine ! {Clasps her in his arms, L C. A pause.) l^ar- 
est Edith, I feel that all must be clear between us. 1 have a 
revelation to make. 

Edit7i. {Startinq.) A revelation! 

Forest. Do not be alarmed! It is nothing. My anme waa 



12 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

not always Forest. I am Charles Wilson, son of your father's 
first wit© 

Edith. {Q-re^Uy aqitafM.) You Charles Wilson? I can- 
not understand it! Why have you never told me this? 

Forent. Don't think me a deceiver. I thought it best. Your 
father drove mo away from home years after my mother's death, 
when you were a little girl. He and 1 never could agree. He 
was set against me. He kept the property which beloaged to 
lay mother, and rightfully was mine. 

EditJi. Tlien you would have been my brother. 

Forest. Thank fortune, I missed a brother's place that I 
might be something dearer. Edith, do you forgive me? 

Edith. Oh, Charles, you surprise me so. I hardly know 
what to think. I trust you. You must have good reasons for 
this. But please don't judge papa harshly. He was severe with 
you. But he will not withhold from you what is yours. He 
intends to leave that money all to you, 'if you shall only prove 
worthy of it. Bat he must not know of this. He would say it 
was deception. 

Forest. There can be no better time than this to seek recon- 
ciliation. 

Edith. Oh, not now! Papa will not consent. Don't ask 
him. 

Forest. Charles Wilson may yet — {Enter Harmy suddenly^ L.) 

Edith. (Screams.) All is lost! 

Harvey. Forest, what does this mean? I heard the name 
Charles Wilson. 

Forest. It means, Mr. Harvey, that I have won the love of 
your daughter. Will you give your consent to our union ? 

Harvey. Never ! 

Forest. Listen a moment, Mr. Harvey ! 

Hai'vey. I know you have a specious tongue, but don't think 
you can win me as easily as you have that foolish girl. 

Edith. Father, this is my own free choice. No specious 
arguments have been used to influence my decision. 

Harvey. So much the worse, headstrong girl, when you 
choose one unworthy of yourself without asking a father's 
advice. This is a poor return, girl, for all my kindness. I will 
not allow it. 

Forest. Mr. Harvey, will you hear a few words from me ? 

Harvey. You are unworthy of my daughter. No words can 
alter that fact. 

Forest. I will make myself worthy of her. 

Harvey. I prefer that my daughter shall have a husband who 
has always been a man of honor. Reformed drunkards seldom 
hold out. 

Edith. Father! Father! You are cruel. 

Harvey. Child, truth is stronger than idle sentiment- 

Forest. Mr. Harvey, I tcill win your esteem. Do you know 
me ? I am Charles Wilson ! 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 13 

Harviey. (Starting suprised.) What! Did I hear aright? 
(Brief pause.) Yes ; I recognize now something familiar in that 
face ihil I coul.l not account for before. bo Charles, you have 
given Lip dissip.itiou to play the smooth-tongued hypocrite, have 
you? 

Forest Mr. Harvey, though I deserve censure, have I no 
claim upon you? 

Harvey. Alter you have atoned for years of misconduct by 
years of useful, honest effort, then come to me, and I will listen 
to your claims. (Mings impatiently.) A servant will show you 
out, Mr. Forest. 

Edith. Then I will go with him. 

Harvey. Silly girl! I forbid your communicating again in 
tmy manner with this person. 

Edith. Is that the way to win the erring? 

Haroey. Girls should not be reformers! (Enter Hick, E.) 
Forest, leave this house at once. 

Edith. Remember I go too ! 

Harvey. Girl, beware ! I will not be trifled with. 

Edith. And I will marry the man of my own choice. 

Harvey. Then you are no longer my child. Go and starve 
with the hero of your own imagination. (Calk Nick, B.) Nick^ 
show this fellow out. 

Edith. And me too ! 

Harvey. Edith, don't plunge yourself into this dark abyss. 
Recall this hasty determination. 

Edith. Better true love and poverty, than such a home as you 
would see me enter. 

Harvey. (In a broken voice.) Nick, take her in the carriage 
wherever she wishes to go. 

Nick. Mr. Harvey ! — 

Harvey. (In tone of anguish.) No ! no I I know her will ! I 
am childless! (Covers his face with his hands. Edith leans her 
face on ForesVs slioulder. Nick has handkerchief to his face.) 

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS, 
Xi Forest, Edith. (7, Habvbt. Nick B. 



ACT II. 



Scene. — Scantily furnished lodgings. Illcketij clinirH and Dlain 
table. Edith discovered as curtain rises sewing. jShe is poorly- 
dressed, and looks careworn. Enter Forest, li. He hears marks 
of recent dissipation. 

Farest. Edith, I am going down town, and I want some 
monej\ 

Edith. Husband, I have no money to give you. 

Farest. {In severe tone.) What do you do with all the money 
your stingy old father sends you? Hasn't Nick Boone be;jn 
iiere lately with a stock of pennies and old shop-worn clothing? 

Edith. The little help Nick brings us is all expended for the 
necessaries of life. It is but little. 

Forest. Precious little! A fine specimen of a gentleman 
your fatiier is. Why don't he pay me what he owes me, and I 
shouldn't need his miserly help. 

Edith. Charles, you too owe a debt ! 

Forest. Several of them if the neighbors don't lie. They've 
sent bills enough. 

Edith. Your greatest debt is to 3'ourself and to your family. 

Forest. There now! Next thing you'll be sniffling. •! can't 
stand a crying woman. (Starts toicard L.) 

Edith. (FnterjJoses.) Charles, please don't go down town to- 
day. Avoid the tempter. 

Forest. Indeed ! You would have me stay at home and listen 
to your growling and fretting all day. (Starts. She lays her 
hand on his arm.) 

Edith. Charles, think of the ruin that is before you. 

Forest. {Laughs.) Yes, I see it. {Looks at her.) {Throws her 
rudely aside.) Don't try to detain me. I know what I'm doing. 
{Pushes her rudely aside. Exit L.) 

Edith. {Drops into a chair iceeping.) Nothing can satiate this 
demon of drink. Our slender means are exhausted, and the 
family honor tarnished. I never thought it possible that my 
husband's really noble nature could 'sink so low. ■ Is it not 
enough that he should cease to love! No, the victim of alcohol 
stays not his hand from helpless loved ones. {Enter Sallie, R.) 

Sallie. What is the matter now, Mrs. Forest? 

Edith. Charles has gone ! 

Sallie. And took the money you got for that sewing, I suppose ? 

Edith. He took that yesterday, and lost it at play. He is mad 
to retrieve his losses. 

Sallie. Well, I wouldn't give him a cent! If he must drink 
and gamble, let him earn his own money. We work hard 
enouirh to earn ours. 

14 



AN ONLY DAUGHEER. 15. 

Edith. Since he lost his place as salesman, he has become 
almost savage. I dare not refuse him anytliin|r'. He will come 
home maddened with drink, and I almost fear him. 
Snllie. What's going to become of us all, I'd like to know? 
Edith. Sallie, take my advice and go back to my father's. 
You know he said you could come back at any time. 

Sallie. I'm not going back till he takes you too. I told him. 
so. 

Edith. Sallie, you are unwise! Leave me! The pittance 
father sends is not much, but it will keep us from starvation. 
It is all I deserve for disobeying the kindest of parents. 

Sallie. {Aside.) If she only knew where that pittance comes 
from. {Aloud.) No, Mrs. Forest; I will stay with you. You 
may yet need my help worse than now. {Enter Nick, L.) 

Nick. Good morning, ladies! All well? 

Edith. No, Nick. My little Etta has caught a severe cold. 

Nick. {Produciiifj from bundle a thick new shaicl.) Mrs. For- 
est, this will be good for her cold. 

Edith. Oh, tills is so kind, Nick ; how can I express my 
thanks ? 

Nick. I don't know! Just lump them, I guess. 

Edith. It is so opportune. I had begun to be alarmed about 
my darling. But she shall suffer no more these chilly nights. 
I will put it over her at once. {Exit, li.) 

Nick. She looks careworn! Is the old 'un cuttin' up again? 

Sallie. Humph! He's always cuttin' up. He's a beast. 

Nick. Now, Sallie, don't be too hard on the "male sect." 
See here! I've something for you, too. {Produces another 
shawl.) 

Sallie. Oh, isn't that nice. {Reaches to take it.) 

Nick. Wait a minute! Let me put it on you. Stand up 
straight! {Places slmwl over her shoulders, and suddenly steals a 
kiss icith a loud smack.) 

Sallie. {Feifining anger.) Go 'way, you awkward booby! 

Nick. It was a little awkward, but it sounded all right. 

Sallie. Nick Boone, will you always make a fool of yourself? 

Nick. {With mock solemnity.) I will, Miss Simmons, when a 
chance like that offers. 

Sallie. Don't call me Miss Simmons. 

Nick. I'm ready to call you Sallie Boone any time you say so. 

Sallie. And I shan't say so soon. I've seen enough of the 
men. Men are a nuisance. 

Nick. Take your time, Sallie. Don't commit yourself. 

Sallie. I don't want to impose on any man who thinks all 
the burdens of matrimony rest on the husband. 

Nick. Well, never mind that. I've been imposed on so 
much that 1 begin to think I'd like it for a steady diet. 

Sallie. Nick, you're a regular pest! 

Nick. Well, then I'll be oil". Does Mrs. Forest know that 



IQ AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Tattle i\nd I pj- 1 those thini^s instead of her father? 

t^>dlie. She never siispec 8 it. m . i m_ 

Nick. Don't tell licr. She wouldn't take them. Ta! tal Tra 

^ Soliie. Tie's a man. He's no walking clothes dummy. No- 
ble ffllow! lie gives his hard earnings to help a sutTermg 
woniiin, wliile the lotifmir lout who should be her protector, 
Bciuanili'rs his monev on his own pleasures. Somehow this 
world is all out of balance, when such things go on every day 
and nobody thinks anything of them. {Ent.r Harvey L.) 

Sallie. {Stnrtinr/.) Mr. liar vey, I declare! 

llai-ooy. Yes Sallic, I've suspected Nick for a good while, ana 
now I've caught him at the very door. I know now what ho 
d<K'8 with his monev. Has it really come to sulfering! . 

Snllie. It has! Mr. Forest grows worse every day. 1 

ILirvfy I can't abandon my child to the heartlessness ot such 
a wretch. 

Sallie. You haven't heard half. He has even dared to strike 
her. I 

Iliirvei/. Shame on 'he unfeeling wretch! She shall have a 
Lome with me. {Enter Edith II.) 

E'Uth. Father! {Falls i nto his arms.) 

Jlarcey. My poor child ! 

Edith. Fatiier, you will forgive us at last? 

JIiivDey. Dc'ar Edith, I will forgive you. I cannot forgive the 
unfeeling man who has been so cruel to you. ' 

Edith. Father, give him one more trial ; he is my husband. 

Harvey. He has betraved every trust confided to him. 

Edith. He is the father of my precious little Etta. Father^ 
you have never seen Ella. I will bring her. {Exit 11.) j 

Hnrv^y. What a mysterious power the love of woman is! It 
is God's beacon light which burns brightest on shadov\'ed paths 
to guide benighted foo*steps back to virtue s simple ways. {En- 
ter Edith Jl, leadinij Etta.) 

Edith. Etta, here is your grandpa! 

Etta. Gran(lp:i, I'm glad to see you. I never saw you before. 

Hiropy. {Takes the child in his arms.) You precious little 
darling! {Kisses hrr.) 

Etta. I'apa used to kiss me and mamma too, but he don't any 
more. I guess he foigets. 

Harvey. Never mind that, child, and I'll buy you something 
pr(!t'y. {Enter L, Forest uod'r the inji'ience of liquor, hut with 
tohra'ily (/ood control of himsdf. The speeeh and the slight stag- 
ger s-i/n/ld be just snjjicient to show intoxication. Forest tries 
to be coucilintory.) 

Forest. How are you, Mr. Harvey ? I'm glad to see you. I 
always thought you would get around to visit us sometime. 
(They sJuike hands.) 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 17 

Jlarmy. Mr. Forest, perhaps you know why I have not called 
on you sooner, and why I come now ? 

Forest. Mr. Harvey, I tned hard to win your esteem, but 
failed. 

Harmy. You began wrong. You thwarted my most cherished 
wishes. Years of self-denial' were necessary. 

Forest. I tried hard enough. Things that arc easy to a rich 
may be very liard to a poor man. 

Harvey. There is no excuse for a poor man's degrading hia 
manhood. 

Forest. Mr. Harvey, I'll try again. 

Harvey. That is the same old story. I didn't come to hear it 
again. 

Forest. {Getting angry) You didn't, eh! I suppose you are 
afraid I'll ask you again for that money you keep that is right- 
fully mine. 

Harvey. That money is legally mine. Your own mother 
wished it kept from your spendthrift fingers. I will still guard 
it for your family. Not a penny of it shall feed your vices. 

Edith. Father, don't be too hard on ihe fallen ! It may not be 
too late for a final effort. 

Harvey. I hope he may try again. 

Forest. You never helped me! 

Edith. The weak need help! He earnestly tried to reform. 
I believe that help and encouragement then would ha'^e saved 
him. 

Harvey. I will find your husband a place where he can earn 
a respectable living. 

Forest. Old man, that isn't the kind of help I want. Give 
me my mother's mouey. 

Harvey. No, Mr. Forest, I will find you employment. 

Forest. (Sneerinyly.) Mr. Harvey, you needn't take up a penny 
collection for me. 

Harvey. Edith, I will give you and your child a home. Will 
you come with me ? 

Forest. I think not. She is my wife, and I'll have something 
to say about that. 

Eiiith. Father, I pledged myself in better days to be true to 
Charles. I cannot abandon him in his hour of trial. Oh, Charles, 
listen to father's proposal ! Think of our needs. 

Forest. I'll beg of no man! Mr. Harvey, you needn't send 
Nick Boone here with any more old clothes. 

Harvey. Nick Boone, is his own master. What he has done 
was done of his own accord. 

Forest. {Angrily.) Then you didn't even send that pittance. 
Like a fool I gave you credit for generosity which you do not 
possess. {More excitedly.) Ybu are an exacting, cruel old man. 

Edith. Charles! 

Forest. {Menacingly.) I won't be insulted I Harvey, leave 
my house I Set foot in it again at your own peril. 



18 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Edith, Father, go at once ! {Aside to H.) He is becoming 
violeat. 

Harney . Are you safe, child ? 

Forest. Are not you going before I lay hands on you ? (Moves 
tow'ird II. Edith hurries Harvey out L.) 

Edith. Cliarles, please don't give way to anger. 

Forest. Don't talk to me of anger, or it will be worse for you." 
Everybody's against me. The old miser! to rob a man and then 
taum him with his poverty! {Sees Sallie's shawl on a chair.) 
What is this? Some of their rags I I'll burn it! No, it will buy 
a royal glass of brandy. {Eater Sallie 11) 

SalUe. Mr. Forest, I'll thank you to lay down that shawl ! 

Forest. I guess not. This is my property. I've captured it 
and confiscated it, as the boys used to say. 

Sallie. I tell you that shawl is mine, and I'm going to have 
it. 

Forest. Look here, Sallie Simmons, that story hasn't any 
corporosity to speak of. 

Sallie. Give me that shawl! {Suddenly snatches the shawl 
from him.) 

Forest. Young lady, I'll settle your coffee some day when you 
get too sharp. 

Sallie. You don't dare to lay hands on me. I'm not your wife! 

Forest. Oh, I'm as glad of that as you are. 

Etta. {Enters B, with her new shawl on) Papa, see my pretty 
shawl ! 

Forest. Oho! dry goods are plenty! Etta, you don't need a 
shawl. You are too little. {Attempts to take it. Edith inter- 
poses.) 

Etta. Don't papa! It's nice and warm ! 

Edith. For shame, Charles! have you no mercy, no com- 
passion ? {F. attempts to take the sicawl. Edith clasps the child in 
her arms.) 

Edith. You shall not take it. The child has suffered enough! 
{F. seized the shawl when Nick and Tattle enter L. Nick seizes 
Forest and hurls him across the room.) 

Nick. Let go that shawl or I'll drop you. 

Tuttle. {Steps between them.) Nick, you forget where you are I 

Nick. He won't forget it, I guess. 

Forest. Jim Tattle, what brings you here? 

Tuttle, I come as a friend! 

Forest. A friend of whom? 

Tuttle. Of the family! 

Forest. {With a sneer.) Oh yes; you used to be a friend of 
part of the family years ago. You're not wanted here. 

Tattle. Forest, listen to an old friend. Friends are better 
than enemies. You have just turned one man away from your 
door with threats of violence. 

F&rest. And I'll tui'n out more of them. Jim Tuttle, you're 
not wanted here. 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 19 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle, please go. My husband will think better 
of thia sometime. {Aside to T.) It's no use to reason with liim 
now. 

Forest. I don't allow any man to interfere in my family 
affairs. 

Tuttle. Mrs. Forest, if I can not serve you in any way I will 
go. I met your father on the street. 

Forest. OIi, that's the game is it? He told you I was drunk, 
and you two came up to protect my family, eh ? 

Nick. Mr. Tuttle, it's no use to try to aid any one under the 
control of this man. 

Forest. {Furiously.) So you've been aiding my family, Tut- 
tle? You've sent presents to my wife, I suppose you have told 
her you still love her too. I'll teach you not to meddle with my 
affairs. {Draws a large knife. Tattle jumps back and Nick runs 
be! ween them.) 

Forest. {In a rage.) Stand aside, Nick, or I'll let you have it. 
{Nick sfizes a small loooden stool and parries the Mjws. Forest 
presses him back, striking furiously. Tattle atternpis to interfere.) 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle, you are the object of his rage! Go at 
: once ! Husband ! {Rashes between F and Nick.) Wliy do you 
pursue Nick? He has done you no harm. Mr. Tuttle is 
innocent. He will go at once. 

Forest. {Panting.) He'd better go ! {Exit 2\, L.) Nick, why 
did you stop me ? 

Nick. Forest, I didn't want to see murder. 

Forest. {Savagely.) I did! 

Edith. {To Nick aside.) Go! Pm in no danger! 
. Nick. Good day, ]\Ir. Forest ! No otfeuse, I hope ! {Exits L.) 

Forest. Wife, has Tuttle been making you presents? Don't 
try to deceive me. 

Edith. {With pride.) Have I ever deceived you ? 

Forest. Well, tliat's precisely what I am trying to find out., 
my lady. 

^Edith. Charles, there i.s a limit even to tlie patience of a suf- 
fering wife. I have never spoken with Mr. Tuttle since our mar- 
riage until to-da}'. 

Forest. All right; if you say so, I guess U is so. I never 
thought you would lie. One thing is sure, Eilith, we've got to 
get out of this. 

Edith. Get out of here ? What do you mean ? 

Forest. Tuttle and Boone will tell your father that your life is 
in danger, and then he'll send officers here to arrest me, and take 
you away. We'll go this evening! Get the things packed. We'll 
disappear awhile. 

Edith. Charles, this is a foolish fear. If we do that we shall 
lose the few friends we have. Father wouldn't know where to 
find us. 

Forest. That's just what I want. Come, be lively, and set 
Bailie to packing up, or I'll help you stir. 



20 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Edith. I don't wish to leave our neighbors. 

Forest. You don't uoiah to leave the neighbors I What are y9ur 
wishes! Must I give you a taste of something? {Makes move to 
strike her.) 

Edith. Oh, don't, Charles ! I will obey. 

Foret't. Humph! I think you'd belter. (Exit Edith, E.) A 
little more abuse is what's needed. That will set the old man 
thinking, and open his eyes and his pocket-book. (Sits doion. 
Laughs.) I'll fetch 'em round. Edith and Etta are worth $50,. 
000 to me, and not worth a cent to anybody else. I'll get it yet, 
too. I'd like to see the old man find them. I'm a trump t / 
omhl (Laughs long.) 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

Scene — Lodgings, very plainly famished. Edith and 8aUi« 
discovered sewing. 

SaUie. I declare my arms are nearly breaking. I didn't think 
liand-sewing was such dreadful hard work. Oh, I'd like to choke 
that old scamp who came and look our sewing-machine away. 

Edith. Sallie, you must learn to be patient. Nothing bufc 
patience can make our trials endurable. 

Sallie. Mrs. Forest, don't talk to me of patience. You know 
ray temper, and you know I couldn't help giving that old wretch 
a piece of my mind. Why didn't he wait a while for the monthly 
payment? 

Edith. He had already waited two weeks, and we were still 
unable to pay him. He only did what his contract allowed him 
to do. 

Sallie. (Impatiently.) Fiddlesticks to his contract! If he 
was a min he wouldn't take the bread out of the mouths of help- 
less women. We could only just make a living with the machine. 
How are we going to live without it? 

Edith. I don't know. There has always been sorne way here- 
tofore. We must wait. 

Sallie. Mrs. Forest, you are the most patient, hopeful womaa 
I ever knew. I can see no hope. 

Edith. I was not always so. I have learned patience through 
years of bitter trial. First, I was an outcast from my father's 
home. Then came the terrible blow of my husband's downfall, 
and the gradual sinking of our darling Etta into her little grave^ 
Still the measure meted to me was not full. Poor Charles's sud- 
den disappearance left an agony of doubt that grew into a dread- 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 31 

ful certainty. Rashly I abandoned a dear father's homo, when I 
mi'^-hthave been just as true to a loved one without betraying 
the^rust of a parent. The past has wrought its ruin ; the future 
can be no worse. , ^ „ 

Sallie. (A mime.) Has the postman passed yet? 

Edith. Yes; there was no letter, i have ^wqh up all hope. 
I deeply wronged my father. Perhaps he will never torgive me. 

Sallie. Why don't you write again? . , • ^ 

Edith. Twice I have written to him. I can not ask agam tor 
what he has thus denied. ,, r, :n,i 

Sallie. O ur rent m ust be raised to-day, or Mr. Bryer will throw 
m out. The old skintiiut will be as good as his word, 1 know. 

Edith. I fear so. We can't possibly get this lot of shirts done 
before Saturday evening. Do you think Mr. Spoyle would ad- 
vance us a little money ? ^ ,. , ^ a 

Sallie. If he did it would be the first favor he ever granted 
anybody. It would be no harm to ask him. 

Edith. Sallie, please go at once and try, so that we may seek 
aid elsewhere if he refuses. {Exit Sallie, L.) My only triend 
ieft is that true-hearted, noble girl. To be thrown out into the 
streets to starve like wretched outcasts would be the climax ot 
our misery. (Knocking L.) Come in ! {Enter Bryer.) 

Bryer. {In h'lrsh, nual voice.) You're sewin', I see, Mrs 
Forest. Well, them that haven't money have got to work, and i 
iust pitched into hard work and soon had a start. Where s that 
sassy gal you keep ? Why isn't she at work too ? 

Edith. She has gone to the tailor's. 

Bri/er. Takin' home some work, I suppose. Then 1 guesi 
you'll pay that reat pretty soon. 

Edith. I will try to pay that this afternoon. 

Bri/er. You'll try to pay. I guess that won't do. It s money 
I want. I work hard myself for all I get. I can t build houses 
and let people live in them for nothing. What's this? {Picks 
up a little work box from the table.) You had better pay your 
■debts than to buy such gimcracks as that, /couldn't aflford 

^^ Edith, Oh, Mr. Bryer. That is the last thing I have that my 
father gave me. I'll pay you. Sallie has gone for money, i 
liope she'll ijet it from Mr. Spoyle. ^ , ^ .^ , , ^, 

Bruer. {Growls.) I hope so too. If she don t you know what s 
<joming. I'm a man of my word. Don't forget that. 1 11 be 
back in half an hour after the money or the turniture. {Exit L.) 

Edith. What will become of us if Sallie should fail to get 
the money. Well there's no use worry mg. {Scats herselj- and 
sews. Enter Sallie L. She seats herself and taken up her sewing. 
Neither speaks for some time.) 

Edith. What did he say? 

Sallie He said, "Not a cent till the work was all delivered. 
More than thvt, he s:iid we noedti't come for a>iy more work. 
Times are so bad that the factory will run only a few handa. 



22 AN ONLY DAUGHTER 

Edith. Then we can fight the wolf no longer. Mr. Bryer 
will be here in half an hour for the furniture. 

Sallie. He shan't have it. I'd like to see him take this furni- 
ture. 

Edith. But he will take it. He has the law in his favor. 

Sallie. Plague the law! It's only another way of strangling 
justice. {Enter Brye) , //.) I wish I was a man. 

Bryer. Ha! ha! AVhat would you do if you were a man? 

Sallie. I'd be a man. 

Bryer. Well, I guess you would have to be a hoy first. There'll 
be plenty of men for a while yvX. There wouldn't be one woman 
to a county though, if they could all get their wish. 

Sallie. Yes, \\\Q\'(i'B plenty of men, such as they are. 

Bryer. Mrs. Forest, have you that money yet? 

Edith. I couldn't raise it. 

Bryer. Well, I knew you couldn't, if you depended on 
Spoyle. Nobody ever got any favors out 'o \im. I'll have to 
take the furniture. I hate to do it, Mrs. Forest, but it's every- 
body for himself these times. There's an officer round the 
corner. But I thou^^ht I'd carry 'em out myself, as you mightn't 
like strangers round. 

Sallie. {Spiriiedly) Strangers! What stranger could be so 
heartless as you are ? 

Bryer. Miss, don't be sassy. It won't do any good. (B. tak^s 
the lamp from the table, and a chair^ and cirries them out L. 
Edith and Sallie fall into each others arm-^, R (7, crying.) 

Bryer. {Re-enters.) They feel pooty bad. Well, I swovv I 
don't blame them. I'd feel Dad myself if I was turned out o* 
doors this cold weather. {Takes up table and is carrying' it to- 
ward the door, when he runs against Nick Boone, L G) Hello, 
young man, what do you mean by running against me that way? 

Nick. (C', with nonchalance.) Hello, old man, what do you 
mean by getting in my way with that table ? I didn't come to 
dine. {Looks at the loomen, who do not notice his entrance.) 

Bryer. You're not liable to dine here, unless you feast your 
imagination a little. 

Nick. Mister, I've fed my fancy till she's in prime, A No. 1, 
condition. She's clear as a bell. In fact, I think I can imagine 
without much strain on the organ just what you're up to now. 

Bryer. {Laughs.) I'm up to this table just now. 

Nick. {Looks at women ajain.) They don't seem to be in a 
hurry to recognize old frientls here. Old gentleman, that won't 
go down. 

Bryer. Yes it will. I measured the stairway. 

Nick. See here, old fellow you'd better measure the stairway 
another time or two, and then get yourself measured for a coffin 
before you trv to take that table down stairs. {Attempts to 
take the table from Bryer's grasp. The noise attracts the attention 
of thawo^nen. Sallie screams and falls into Nick^s ar>ns, 0) 

Sallie. Is it you, Nick? 



AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 88 

Nick. I thiak so. What do you say, Sallie ? 

SaUie. rin so glad you've come. '{Withdraws a little.) 

Nick. Are you! Til stay if you waat me to. How do you 
•do, Mrs. Forest? 

Edith. Nick, you cau't tell what joy it is to see old frienda. 

Nick. That's so. /can't tell. Can you, Sallie? 

Sallie. You're just the same old Nick. 

Nick. Whew! (Prolo/iged whistle.) Don't call names, Sallie, 
Old Nick sounds personal. 

Sallie. Then I'll say yoww^' Nick. Butyou'vecome just in time. 

Nick. Y'es, the old gentleman said 3 o'clock. 

Bdith. The old gentleman ! AYho, Nick ? 

Nick. Your father! He sent me round to inquire about you. 

Edith. Oh, did he! Dear father! 

Nick. Who is this old scrub who wants to carry out the furni- 
ture? (Looks round.) Hang me if he hasn't taken that table. 
(Re-enter Bri/er, L.) 

Edith, He's the landlord! 

Nick. Old executioner, where's that table? 

Bryer. It's on the sidewalk. I'll take good care of it, (Grosset 
and picks up a chair, li.) 

Nick. Drop that chair or I'll drop you. 

Bryer. Young man, take care. Don't strike me ; I'm the law. 

Nick. You are the law, are you? Well, I'm one of the propJin 
ets. (A pause.) If you don't get out of this, I prophesy some- 
body will get hurt. 

Edith. 'Nick, please don't provoke him. 

Sallie. (Aside to Nick.) Nick, hit him. 

Bryer. All right, my good fellow! Shice you set yourself up 
as a protector of tliKsw wonaii, just pay my little bill and I'll 
carry the tiii lu^-; in i^^il i. ICs only four dollars. Fork it over. 

Nick. 1 will. (Fees in all Lis pockets in vain.) I'll — I'll write 
yoM a check. 

Bryer. (Insole (.ft'.) G -t <mi of my way! (Picks up a chair y 
pisses toward L. Ntck. wrests it from him and hurls him across 
the room to door, L.) 

Nick. Now get out, or I'll break your bones. I'll pay this 
before 4 o'clock. 

Bryer. (Aside. He's a dangerous fellow.) You had better, or 
it will be worse for them. (Exit L.) 

Nick. Now we're rid of that chap, I have good news for you, 
Mrs. Forest. Your father is coming. I think he is on the stairs 
now. He will tell you something. (Enter Harvey L.) 

Edith. (Rashes into his arms,L. 0.) My dear father, forgive me! 

Harcey. Child, all is forgotten I Forgive my harshness which 
has added to your sorrow. 

Edith. Father, don't accuse yourself. It was my fault. 

Nick. (Aside to Sallie, E.) SaUie, don't you get a little lone- 
some living this way? 

Sallie. (Coy'y.) Sometimes, Nick. 



24 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 

Nick. I should think you would try some other plan. 

Bailie. I — I never Avas much at phmning, Nick. 

Harvey. Edith you have seen enough of sorrow. I have nev.s 
for you. {Steps to door L, aid brings in Forest.) I bring you a 
husband. I have found a son. 

Edith. {Oreatly agitated.) Is it indeed you, Charles, whom 
I thought dead long ago ? 

Forest. It is indeed I, dear w^ife. (Clasps her in his arms, G.) 
I thought it better to be dead to you than to live a reproach to 
you. I vowed no one should ever hear from me again until I 
could stand before my fellows a man. I return from the miae^ 
of the West with health and a fortune, after five years' hard toil. 
I have broken the cursed fetters which bound and ruined me. 
My old enemy sought his fortune with the multitude. We met 
in times of trial, and James Tuttle's timely help saved me. 

Edith. Mr. Tuttle! His kindness we cannot repay. {Fause.y 
We shall part no more now, dear Charles. 

Forest. Death alone will part us. But have you been suffer- 
ing here alone ? I heard that you were with your father, and 
supposed it true. What a villain I have been. Neglect took my 
precious child and has caused the mother many a pang. Can 
my future wipe out the past? 

Harvey. Spend no time in idle reproaches. Youdid right to 
win our love and esteem by a long period of self-denial. I was 
too severe with you when you gave me your promise. Forgive 
me, my boy. 

Forest. I have learned how to forgive. 

Edith. Charles, we can yet be happy. 

Harvey. The paths toward the setting sun are beautiful to the 
virtuous. 

Nick. Sallie, what do you say to a joint stock company? 
You and I will be the only shareholders. 

SalUe. Nick, do you remember the bill of particulars you 
gave me once about a husband's duties? 

Nick. Sallie, don't be too hard -on a fellow. What I have 
seen for sometime back has changed my mind a good deal. I 
won't mention that bill of particulars again if you won't. 

Bailie. I'll not, Nick. 

Nick. Then there's no further objection. {Puts arm round Tier. 

Harvey. He's a pretty good boy, Sallie. 

Edith. And she is a good girl. I never shall forget you, Sallie. 

Forest. Nor I. You've been true through prosperity and ad- 
versity. Edith, we will remember her. 

Edith. Yes, while memory remains; for of nature's fairest 
treasures none is so fair as a friend in need. 

ARRANGEMENT OF CHARACTERS, 
G. 

R. Harvey, Edith, Forest, SAiiLiB, Nick. L. 
CUKTAIN. 



Chicauo, III. 



THE ASSESSOR. 

A humorous sketch illustrating the difficulties of an assessor in listing 
the property of a shrewd old farmer. Full of unexpected developments; 3 
male and 2 female. Time, 15 m. 

BORROWING TROUBLE. 

A ludicrous farce ; 3 male and 4 female. Time, 30 m. Illustrates the very 
amusing trials of a borrowing family. 

'' Borrowing Trouble tully sustained the excellent reputation gained by its 
author. It brought down the house."— JIfadisf/W {Wu.) Democrat. 
COUNTRY JUSTICE. 

Avery amusing country law suit; 8 male characters. (May admit 14). Time, 
15 minutes. Contains a very remarkable verdict. 

LOUVA, THE PAUPER. 

A drama in five acts ; 9 male and 4 female characters. Time, 1 hour 45 m. 
Contains a good Yankee character and a humorous darky character. This is 
an intensely interesting and pathetic play. It admits of striking scenic el- 
fects, and is astrovg and popular play for amateurs. 

Act I., Louva's tyrants. Act II., freedom promised and denied. Act III., 
the trial. Act IV., flight. Act V., pursuit; death in the mountains; retribu- 
tion. 

" Send sample copy of a play that is as good as Louva the Pauper. That 
took splendidly here."— G. J. Railshach, Minier, JR., Dramatic Club. 

" Peleg Pucker, the Yankee peddler, is inimitable."— Prac^ica^ Teacher, 

THE PULL-BACK. 

A laughable farce; 6 female. Time, 20 m. Contains an excellent old- 
fashioned " old lady" character. Pictures her adventures among the devotees 
of fashion. 

HANS VON SMASH. 
A roaring farce in a prologue and one act; 3 male and 4 female. Time, 
30 m. Contains an excellent humorous Dutch character. This is a very pop- 
ular farce. Country life. 

" Hans brought down the house."— i?eFG«. Vleck, Beep River., Iowa. 

ON THE BRINK, 

Or, The Reclaimed Husband. 

A temperance drama in two acts, by H. Elliott McBride; 12 male and 3 

female. Time, 1 hour, 45 m. Seven of the characters have unimportant 

parts, and some of the parts are so arranged that the same person may play 

two parts. Contains three humorous Yankee characters. 

"We rendered On the Brink a number of times very successfully to 
crowded houses."— i?ramatic Club, Cordova, Minn. 

A PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT. 
A sketch, by H. Elliott McBride; 2 male and 5 female. Time, 25 m. A 
first rate piece for boys and girls in school exhibitions. Very amusing. 
OUR COUNTRY. 
A patriotic drama in three parts. Requires 9 male, 3 female. (Admits 9 
male, 15 female.) Four fine tableaux. Time, about 1 hour. Based on Colon- 
ial and Revolutionary history of U. S. The narration is lively enough to make 
it take well. It contains some striking situations. 
A BAD JOB. 
A highly ludicrous farce, by H. Elliott McBride ; 3 male, 2 female. Time, 
30 m. 

What Have we to fJo with Plymouth RocL? 
A colloquy adapted to the use of Illinois schools, and of general interest 
to New England immigrants in the central Western States. By J. H. Blod- 
gett. May ne used by from ten to twenty pupils. Time, 40 m. Interesting 
and instructive in the history of Illinois. 

AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 
A drama in three acts; 4 male, 2 female. Time, 1 hour, 15 ra. An intense- 
ly interesting story of petted indulgence, error, sufi'ering, wrong, retaliation 
and repentance. Humor to make it take. No dialect. A society play to 
suit the most fastidious. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



THE SCHOOL MA* AM 

A brilliaut comedy in four acts; 6 male, 6 feme 




015 863 524 



This play is not a mere ti^^^'ue of imaginative incidenic. x iicic lo Bcarceiy au 
incident in it but has h.id its counterpart in the workings of our public 
schools. It contains a good comic Irifh character, au American "Mrs. 
(iamp,''a " eolf-made man" (poor job), and the typical American "School 
Ma'am," anxious to succeed, but beset w ith difticnlties. Every teacher, every 
director, every citizen, should read it an a hooTi, whether you wish it as a play 
or not. 

THE IRISH LINEN PEDDLER. 

A livclr farce; 3 male, 3 female. Time. Ah m. The action ia lively, the 
incidents unexpected and ludicrous. Pat O'Doyle, the peddler, is a combiua- 
lion of wit, drollery, cunning and impudence. 

THE KANSAS IMMIGRANTS; or, The Great Exodus. 

A roaring farce; 5 male, 1 female. Time, 30 m. Contains two darky 
cliaractcrs. Excrutinllngly comical. Cannot fail to be a popular farce. 

IS THE EDITOR IN? 

A farce; 4 male and ^ female. Time. 20 m. Scene, a country newspaper 
oftic*'. Very amusing. 

A REGULAR FIX. 
A farce, by J. Madison Morton ; (i male, 4 female. Time, :i5 m. Very popular. 
MT TURN NEXT, 

A capital farce, by T. J. Williams; 4 male. 3 female. Time, 45 m. Illus- 
trates the difficulties an apothecary encountered through marrying in haste. 

A KISS IN THE DARK. 

.\ farce, by J. B. Buckstonc; 8 male, 2 female. Time, 40 m. A highly 
successful farce. 

THE PERSECUTED DUTCH3IAN. 
A farce, by S. Barry; 6 male, 3 fenalc.. Time. 40 m. Good. 

LIMERICK BOY (Paddy Miles.) 
A farc(!, bv James Pilgrim; 5 male, 2 female. Time, 40 m. A tip-top 
fa re.-. 

rM NOT 3IESILF AT ALL. 

A farce, by C. A. Maltby; 3 male, -Z female. Time, 25 ra. Very funny. 

A BOUND VOLUME 

Of plays, containing the lir^t ten plays in this catalogue, substantially and 

handsomely bound in muslin, gilt staiiip. Will be sent, po.«tpaid, for $1.25. 

FRIDAY AFTERNOON SERIES. 

A collection of original, lively dialogues suitable for boys and girls in 
school entertainments. Sonu;of the dialogues contain both male and female 
characters; somt; arc lor boys alone; some for girls alone. All are shmt. 
Price, 25 cenl.s. 

SCHOOL AND PARLOR TABLEAUX, 
By Sara L Stocking. A choice collection of original tableaux for school, 
church, and i)Hrlor entertainments. They embrace a wide range of subjects, 
from the claissical to the comic. The historical tableaux admit the use of 
beautiful costumes, and cauuot fail to please. Full instructions given as to 
costume. The comic rnbleanx are siniple and easily prepared. Price, 25cts. 

SCRAP-BOOK RECITATION SERIES, NO. /, 

ByH. M. Sojjcr, Professor of Elocution. A choice collection of fresh read- 
ings, i)athetic, dramatic and humorous. The editor has taken especial pains 
to make a collection chieflv of choice //^M) ;>;^ce«, which cannot easily be 
ouud elsewhere. The editor's extended experience In teaching elocution has 
admiral)ly (lualitied him for discriminating ns to what is really adapted to 
elocutionary purposes. While special care has been taken to find new and 
rare ]>ieces", nothing has been acTmitted which does not contain real merit. 
Price, 25 cents. 

T. S. DENISON, Chicago. 



-K v>r c/ t^ 




015 863 524 



